My body needs fuel. I need to heal, regain my strength. If I want to stay free, that means swallowing the pride I didn’t know I still had, and taking what she’s left for me.
I keep one eye on the sleeping female as I cross the room and stop before the small table. The smell of the stew hits me, and before I can stop myself, I’m lifting the bowl to my lips. I don’t bother with the spoon.
The first mouthful is almost enough to do what centuries of abuse couldn’t. My legs buckle, and one hand hits the edge of the table to steady myself. Meat, salt, the richness of gravy. When had I last tasted anything like this?
The second mouthful is worse. Or better. I can’t tell.
Flavor. Actual flavor, not the gray slop they toss into the cages. I tip the bowl higher, drinking it down, then drag my fingers through the dregs and lick them clean. The bread tears apart in my hands. I stuff it into my mouth, followed by the cheese.
And all the while, I watch her, hoping she doesn’t wake and see me eating like the animal she believes me to be.
When I’m done, I scan the room again. It’s small, but clean. The window has shutters that don’t quite fit properly, and the door has a lock a child could pick. The bed has a thin mattress stuffed with straw that smells of other humans’ sweat … and yet compared to where I’ve spent the last three centuries, this is a palace.
That thought takes my attention back to the female sleeping on the bed.
She is a problem I haven’t solved yet. She can be useful, but she’s also a liability.A king’s daughter.I don’t know who the king is now, but I remember the one who ruled when I was last free. He was responsible for the war that erupted between our kind, and it was my blade that ended his life.
This one sent his daughter to hunt a fae. A gift. I’m sure he thought it was very thoughtful.
Sooner or later, news will spread. The Dell won’t be able to keep the news hidden for long that a fae escaped, spiriting away the king’s daughter with him. As much as they’ll try to keep it a secret, peoplewilltalk.
And the longer I keep her, the more risk there is of her being recognized or, eventually, trying to escape or kill me.
Icouldkill her. Leave her body here and disappear before dawn. It would be easy enough. She sleeps like she trusts me not to do it, which is either stupidity or exhaustion. Probably both.
But I need her, as much as the admission grates on me. A fae walking alone through human lands will draw attention. A fae trailing behind a noblewoman is invisible. If I want to free the rest of my people, I need her face, her voice, and her ability to lie to her own kind.
I shift on the floor, trying to ease the ache in my back. Another side-effect of reduced power. I don’t have the stamina I once did or the quick healing. It’ll come back, along with my power, but it’s another thing that needs time. I could join the female on the bed. She’s small, barely taking up half of it, but?—
The thought of lying beside a human female turns my stomach. So I stay where I am, back against the door, and close my eyes,letting my awareness sink into the wards, and eventually …
Eventually, I sleep.
I don’t know how long I sleep for, butsomethingwakes me. My attention goes straight to the wards. They’re intact, humming quietly at the edge of my awareness. There are no footsteps coming from outside the room.
So, what woke me?
I keep my breathing steady, my body still, my eyes closed, and I listen.
She’s awake.
Her breathing has changed, and her heartbeat has accelerated. The soft rustle of blankets as she moves fills the room, then the bedframe creaks.
She’s getting up.
I track her by sound. The whisper of her feet on wood. The catch of her breath as she tries to be quiet. She’s heading toward the table, where the empty bowl, cup, and plate still sits.
There’s a soft scrape of metal against wood. She’s picking up the knife. It’s meant for spreading butter, the blade barely sharp enough to slice through the bread or cheese. But a blade doesn’tneedto be sharp to open a throat. It just needs to be pressed hard enough, drawn fast enough. In the right hands, even a dull knife can do damage.
I’vekilled with less.
I wait, curious to see what she’s going to do.
She crosses the room step by careful step. Her breathing is louder now, fast and shallow, and fear comes off her in waves. She’s terrified, and yet she’s doing this anyway.
Interesting. Stupid, but interesting.
She crouches beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body and hear the rabbit-fast beat of her heart. The blade touches my throat. Her hand is shaking. I can feel the tremor through the steel, a faint vibration that betrays everything her silence is trying to hide. She adjusts her grip, and the edge presses harder, finding the soft spot just below my jaw where blood runs close to the surface.
